


Undercover Mission High

by Neurotoxia



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Dehumanizing Language, Fake/Pretend Relationship, M/M, Minor Original Character(s), Objectification, Pining, Undercover Missions, Undercover as a Couple
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-26
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-03-17 21:41:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29723649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neurotoxia/pseuds/Neurotoxia
Summary: Reno has overestimated his ability to compartmentalise. By a non-zero amount.
Relationships: Reno/Tseng (Compilation of FFVII)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 14
Collections: Proximity Flash





	Undercover Mission High

**Author's Note:**

  * For [crookedspoon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/crookedspoon/gifts).



It’s a nice evening in the Midgar region. Late summer, the heat just stopped being scorching with the sun now low on the horizon. Nevertheless, Reno would very much like to strangle one of the twittering birds just to have _anywhere_ to put the energy.

Not that he needs to. He’s fine. Perfectly fine. Has never been finer, in fact. 

Reno has overestimated his ability to compartmentalise. By a non-zero amount.

It’s a clusterfuck in the making. His inclination towards exaggerating notwithstanding. 

Normally, Reno likes undercover work. He’s good at the charade. But right now, squirming in his seat in a parking lot in Kalm, head tipped back and blinking his eyes against the burn of the eyedrops, Reno knows this is going to be one of the longest nights of his life. Tseng pulls his arm back and sets the small unlabelled bottle in a cup holder.

The drops burn like hell for thirty seconds, but they’re the easiest way to give you the look of a drug addict without shooting up.

“Look at me,” Tseng says.

Reno would rather not.

He does anyway, because you don’t ignore Tseng’s commands when he’s within stabbing range, blinking his eyes against the slight blur until it clears and Tseng comes into focus. Reno looks at Tseng’s face, and not into the open shirt. Tseng’s sporting a casual black button-up with a tropical plant print, the top two buttons undone – for Tseng, it feels so indecent, he might as well be naked. Reno thinks having to look at Tseng’s collarbone should be classified as torture. He can just about hold on when Tseng is fully clothed. Though that may be because it pushes a set of different buttons.

“You look appropriately drugged up,” Tseng determines, sizing Reno up like he’s a piece of equipment. “Goes well with your flush.”

Reno glances at himself in the rearview mirror: his pupils are blown wide, the rim of his irises shining with a faint hue reminiscent of mako. The concoction comes from R&D, making you look like you’re on some mako-based drug. A failed pharmaceutical trial, in that it didn’t improve eyesight like they'd hoped, but the Turks swooped in with a different idea for the drops. They’re perfect for cover missions when you need someone to think you’re out of it.

“Yeah, well, the blush gives me that youthful appearance,” Reno jokes.

There _is_ blush on his face, right on top of where he concealed his face tattoos. It makes him look younger and softer around the edges than his regular appearance, which Elena always claims reminds her of a fox. He’s not supposed to look sly today.

“I’m supposed to have led you astray,” Tseng says with a move of his shoulders that’s almost a shrug, and Reno thinks it’s hilarious Tseng would say that, because it’s basically true.

“Hard to resist your wiles,” Reno says because the situation calls for gallows’ humor.

“And my drugs.”

“And your drugs,” Reno agrees and tugs on his shirt, if you can call it that.

It’s a threadbare, oversized sleeveless number in stone grey with a v-neck so deep even Reno considers it a bit much. He’s tucked it into trousers so skinny he almost needed a shoehorn to get himself in there. As you do. But it completes the look of _young plaything of Wutaian drug mobster_ that they’re going for.

 _Wutaian drug mobster_ apparently only requires a brightly patterned casual shirt and flashy gold jewellery, which is stereotypical enough that Tseng could walk onto a set of a soap opera to play the part. A lot of serious criminals would laugh him out of the room dressed like that. But the guy they’re meeting appears not to be the brightest, and a more subtle approach might have gone right over his head. The disdain with which Tseng looks at the oversized gold watch on his left wrist is pretty worth it, though.

“Speaking of looking like a two-gil-whore,” Reno hums and pulls another item from the small makeup bag they’ve stuffed in the middle console.

“What’s that?” Tseng asks while Reno dabs the clear gel on his lips and in the corners of his mouth, pulling a face against the sharp sting.

“Lip plumper,” Reno says and holds up the tube for Tseng to read. “Got the idea from Elena. Stuff stings like a bitch, and my skin is pale and sensitive enough that it irritates. Give it two minutes and it’ll look like I just got done giving you one hell of a blowjob.”

Nope, not thinking about blowing Tseng in a car. There is no room for a boner in these trousers. 

Tseng clears his throat.

“What?” Reno asks.

“Nothing,” Tseng says. “Let’s go.”

Reno rolls his eyes and throws his door open. Time to stop thinking about blowing Tseng and start thinking about blowing ‘Mr. Kaneshiro’. Or maybe he should just stop thinking of blowjobs altogether. Much safer in present company.

Their contact is camping out at an unassuming inn off in a quiet alley, away from whatever counts as bustle in the town. Not the worst place to hide for a drug operation. Who’d look in a sleepy, quaint town like Kalm when Junon and Midgar with their much better infrastructure are right there around the corner?

Once they step through the front door, Reno assumes his best pleasantly vacant expression as he trails half a step behind Tseng to the counter. The inn’s main room is sparsely populated, a few small groups are clustered around some of the tables, hunched over glasses and bowls of snacks. The electric lanterns in the room are dimmed low, spilling no more light than the fire in the hearth. Every wall seems lined with flags of the different miners’ guilds, plaques and pictures crammed into every gap left. None of the patrons even look up when they come in, even though Reno and Tseng are easily identified as outsiders.

Their intel suggests that the regular patrons, mostly former miners, are aware the inn is a front for a crime operation, but they’re turning a blind eye to stick it to Shinra. It’s a bit of a theme.

The barkeep, a tall, older man with the build of a stick figure, scrutinises them, even though he’s not even stopping from filling mugs with beer.

“I’d like a pot of strong black tea, and some rye bread,” Tseng orders and raps his knuckles on the countertop. “Served in twelve minutes.”

The strange request is a password sequence, but the barkeep continues to scrutinise them over the rim of his horn glasses, and his bushy moustache bristles, but then he sets the mugs down, wipes his hands on a rag and jerks his head for them to follow. Reno feels like he ought to complain to someone about terrible customer service, the man hasn’t even said hello.

True to the stereotype theme they have going on this night, the back operation is through the storeroom, with a guard behind the entrance who pats them down in an entirely unenthused manner. Reno has a knife hidden in each boot and the stones in Tseng’s rings are actually materia, but you’d have to pay attention to know. This guy doesn’t. He barely seems to consider it worth his time to frisk Reno, which means his disguise is working like a charm already. 

The back is decidedly more lavish than the rest of the inn, but far from tasteful. Their guy is one of those rich dudes who mistake red velvet and gold chandeliers for class. 

“You must be Mr. Kaneshiro,” a voice with the cadence of nails on a chalkboard calls out. “A pleasure.”

The man shaking Tseng’s hand had a face like a beak. Sharp nose, pointed chin, small eyes. According to the info they have, he’s forty-seven, but his hair is already almost white. The style reminds Reno of Rufus Shinra, though unlike Rafael Gauwill, Rufus actually looks classy with it.

“And who’s the beautiful creature accompanying you?” he asks and turns his beady eyes on Reno.

The main reason Reno is along for the ride is that Gauwill’s most renowned characteristic seems to be an inclination towards young men. What better way to suggest kinship than being a business partner with a similar set of interests. Though Tseng is too young himself to play creepy middle-aged man, so he has to lean into the sleazy part a little harder.

“Ah,” Tseng says, voice glib. The back of his hand caresses the side of Reno’s neck like someone would do with a favourite pet. _Motherfucker._ “This is Raine. He wasn’t willing to part from me tonight.”

Tseng’s hand winds around Reno’s waist, settling low enough on his waist to be indecent and squeezes for good measure. Reno bites his lower lip, and it’s only about forty percent acting. Sure, ordinarily Reno would rip out the throat of anyone who’d try treat him like a pet, but he’s also into role playing and his brain didn’t get the memo that this is work and not one of those events where Reno, in the privacy of his own four walls, imagines Tseng doing a long list of increasingly filthy things to him. 

He’ll burn some incense for whatever deity is willing to take on responsibility for this if he makes it through without embarrassing himself. Inadvertently, that is. Being embarrassing is more or less his job tonight.

“It’s hard not to indulge them, isn’t it?” Gauwill muses like Reno isn’t even there. “They have convincing arguments.”

His eyes are definitely lingering on Reno’s abused-looking lips. Gross.

“Indeed,” Tseng says and his tone is gracious. “But I intend to conduct my business regardless.”

“Of course,” Gauwill agrees and motions with his hand for them to follow.

Said business is conducted on a set of overstuffed velvet sofas and Reno decides to be the obnoxious kind of arm candy and drapes himself across Tseng’s lap, lounging against Tseng’s chest. Tseng makes for a good seat. He could get used to it. He shouldn’t, but he could.

Well, while he has the chance, he could collect a bit of spank bank material. It’s being pragmatic.

Reno dips his hand into the open collar of Tseng’s shirt and starts playing with the gold chain resting against Tseng’s collarbone. Tseng’s breath hitches, but not loud enough for Gauwill to take notice, and he finally stops being a cold fish with his hands useless at his sides. One sneaks around Reno’s midriff, coming to rest at the junction of Reno’s thigh and crotch. Reno decides he’s grateful for the tight trousers after all. It may be painful, but they’ll keep any undue boners down.

“Now, I’m not in the habit of taking on new business partners that I don’t even know, Mr. Kaneshiro,” Gauwill says and gestures with his hand, which makes a young man with a drinks tray appear at his side.

Young man may be pushing it. He looks a good bit younger than even Reno’s aged-down appearance. Twenty, if he’s old. Gauwill certainly does like them young. The _boy’s_ smile is perfectly pleasant as he serves them drinks, but a little vacant. Drugs, if Reno had to guess. For types like Rafael Gauwill, with no charm or personality to speak of, a combination of drugs and money is the easiest way to keep the company they want.

“You come highly recommended, however,” the man continues after his first sip of vodka. “So I’m making an exception in meeting you.”

“I appreciate that.” Tseng replies and has a sip of his own.

The recommendation comes from a crime boss in Junon that Tseng keeps on the books as an informant, and who owes Tseng about ten favours in every which way. 

Not wanting to give the impression that he’s paying attention, Reno turns himself closer into Tseng’s chest and tucks his chin against the crook of Tseng’s neck. He notices a short, sharp intake of breath, and fair, Reno is ticklish in that area himself. But it gives him a really good angle for taking measure of the rest of the room, so Tseng will have to deal with it. Getting to sniff Tseng’s aftershave isn’t half-bad either.

Gauwill seems to like looking like he’s some sort of lord. The entire rest of the open-plan space is the same type of knock-off upper echelon design as the sitting area they’re occupying. Heavy velvet draperies everywhere, chandeliers, ornate rugs, dark woods, dramatic paintings. Even Reno can tell it’s not actually as expensive as it appears, it just wants to be. But Reno works for a guy who has so much more money than sense that he’ll plate his gun in gold and whose son makes a sport out of buying paintings and antique books even though he doesn’t have an interest in either – it’s an _investment_.

Further in the back sits a table full of what’s clearly goons and hangers-on playing cards, with a small band of women in scant clothing cheering on whoever’s shoulder they’re looking over. Gauwill keeps a tight inner circle, but his network is remarkable. In just a few short years he seized control over the drug trade in the West. What brought him on their radar is that his trade in amphetamines has sky-rocketed over the last year – and Shinra is hemorrhaging tightly-controlled amphetamines meant for SOLDIER use on the battlefronts. There’s a huge fucking leak somewhere and Lazard wants it plugged as fast as possible.

Which is how Tseng ended up here. If he can successfully pose as a Wutaian mobster interested in distributing Gauwill’s amphetamines in Wutai, they’re right in the supply chain. They’re going to get names and drop sites. And with what Rude and Elena are digging up at the other end, they’re going to pincer the motherfuckers. 

While Tseng talks business, Reno takes stock of their surroundings in detail, whatever they learn about their host has the potential to be useful. He excuses himself to the bathroom at one point, taking care to stumble over the rug in an effort to impress that he’s somewhat high and somewhat drunk – and just like that, no one pays him any mind or wonders why he’s in the bathroom for ten minutes. Reno is busy taking photographs of papers and an honest-to-Shiva rolodex (who even has those anymore?) in a small office right next to the bathroom. With a phone full of photographs he shimmies back into Tseng’s lap without a hitch.

It’s very nearly offensive, how much they’re collectively treating him as a barely sentient object, nevermind that that’s exactly what he wanted to achieve. Reno likes at least a bit of a challenge to convince someone of his disguises. 

“You wouldn’t be willing to have your young friend here spend an evening in my company?”

Reno, who has been killing time by putting a thin braid in a few strands of Tseng’s hair, snaps to attention. Tseng’s fingers, resting on Reno’s hip, tighten reflexively in a warning.

“I’m rather possessive, I’m afraid,” Tseng replies, and Reno recognises that tone. An implicit threat, though Reno doesn’t think that Gauwill hears it. You’d have to know Tseng.

Tseng’s hand glides under Reno’s shirt and fuck, that’s his nipple. The fingertips ghost over the hard nub and trace the barbell piercing it. Reno doesn’t even try to stop the soft moan spilling from him – his nipples are a straight line to his cock. As far as sending a message goes, Reno supposes this will do it. Thank fuck that Tseng will think he’s acting. He grinds down on Tseng’s lap, attempting to move away and at the same time get more contact.

Yep, that’s definitely the outline of Tseng’s dick he can feel there against his ass. Not quite a full hard-on, but something’s definitely perking up. But Reno _has_ been squirming in Tseng’s lap all evening and Tseng’s wearing loose linen trousers. Reno’s own dick is only kept in check by the complete lack of space.

“A pity,” Gauwill smiles indulgently. “But I understand. Perhaps you’ll reconsider in the future.”

“Perhaps.”

Which sounds a whole lot like _never_ , but once again, it’s a Tseng inflection of voice you have to know to understand. Tseng’s smile might look conspiratory to the layperson, but what Reno sees is so sharp it could cut a mountain range straight across. 

Reno supposes he should be relieved Tseng isn’t just handing him over, but it’s not supposed to be a honeypot mission after all. 

Gauwill seems content with the perceived _maybe_ and carries on with pleasantries, to which Reno now pays a hell of a lot more attention. Not that the asshole acknowledges Reno as an individual. Didn’t even consider to ask _Raine_ if he wants to spend the night someday.

* * *

They’re making their excuses a little later, and Tseng and Gauwill suggest to meet again in a week’s time. At least that worked. He’s interested in biting. In a different life, Tseng could have been one hell of a salesman. 

The walk back to the car is mostly silent, Reno keeps hanging onto Tseng’s forearm to keep up their cover – just in case they’re being followed. Tseng opens the passenger door for him, and Reno crawls into the blessed privacy of the tinted cabin, though he waits until Tseng has closed the driver’s door before he drops the act.

“Ugh, that dude makes me want to take a shower,” Reno groans and scrunches up his face, flopping back against the seat.

“Agreed,” Tseng sighs and rubs a hand over his face. “I can go by myself next time. He doesn’t seem to be interested in me.”

“Yeah, no,” Reno protests and digs in the glove compartment for a can of coffee he stashed there earlier. “If me buttering him up is going to get us hooked into his network faster, I’m doing it.”

“I’m not sure buttering up is going to cut it,” Tseng says and wrinkles his nose, shaking two of his gold bracelets off his wrist and into the driver’s console. “Can’t say that I don’t have a feeling he’s going to refuse my business if I refuse to relinquish you for a night. Unless he’s lost interest by next week.”

He starts the car and backs out of the parking spot. Kalm is dead as a doornail at this time of night. 

Reno can’t help but scoff. “Tseng, I sucked a dick for two cigarettes once. It’s fine.”

He cracks open the lid of his coffee and very nearly guzzles the can. It’s lukewarm instead of its usual cold fresh from the vending machine, but he’s at the point where he couldn’t care less.

“I’m not pimping you out if we can get it done another way.”

Reno appreciates the finality in Tseng’s tone, but he’s not exactly protecting the innocent here. 

“It’s not pimping if I’m offering,” Reno replies and shrugs when Tseng glances over to him with a stormy expression. “I’m just saying. I don’t _want to_ , but I will.”

Ifrit knows Reno didn’t sign on for the job to sleep with creepy, middle-aged dudes for information, but he’s not that precious about it. His body is no fucking temple.

“That’s less reassuring than you think.”

Tseng looks and sounds well on his way to genuinely upset by Reno’s insistence. As the guy running this mission, he should be elated Reno is willing to do whatever looks like the path of least resistance. Granted, Reno would _prefer_ sizzling Gauwill’s balls with his Mag-rod, too, but that’s not going to get them the drug distribution of the Western islands.

“Whatever, yo,” Reno finally says and offers Tseng his coffee. Tseng, surprisingly, takes it. Must have been exhausting for him if he’s willing to drink lukewarm coffee in a can. Perhaps levity is what’s needed. “We’ll think of something. Maybe he’ll settle for watching me blow you. I wouldn’t mind that too much.”

Reno yawns and nearly would have missed Tseng turning as magenta red as the flowers on his shirt, if Tseng hadn’t made a strangled sound to draw Reno’s attention.

“What? Not into voyeurism?” Reno jokes.

The reprimand is swift. “Reno, that’s inappropriate.”

“So’s fondling my crotch.” Reno truly only has two settings when it comes to pining after someone. Freaking out or making jokes. “Relax, I’m just messin’ with you.”

“We’ll figure something out,” Tseng repeats Reno’s earlier sentiment. He’s still blushing. 

Curious. Tseng is not a guy to make innuendo even on a good day, but he’s not that much of a stick in the mud that he goes clutching his pearls whenever something sexual comes up. You can’t work in the Turks with that kind of delicate disposition.

“I know,” Reno reassures him. “Get some weight on that gas pedal. I wanna sleep.” _And have a long jerk-off session in the shower before that_ , but Reno leaves that part unsaid.

He’s going to have to get into a better mindset before act two next week. The way he sees it, they’re going to have to lean a lot harder into Raine’s single-minded devotion to Kaneshiro to dissuade Gauwill while trying to keep his business, or poor Raine has got to buckle up and take one for the team. 

Reno has a feeling that whatever the solution is, he’s going to end up regretting it. But that’s another worry for another day.

Today is for furiously masturbating.

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from Temposhark's "Crime".


End file.
